Waiting for the Walls to Come Down
by Demian33
Summary: When the team fails to solve a highly public and emotionally-charged case, Castle and Beckett have to deal with the fallout from Gates and the effects on their own relationship. Lots of characters, lots of angst, lots of humor … lots of what makes you love Caskett. Set in Season 4 before 47 Seconds. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

It was a Saturday night at the precinct and things were unusually quiet. Ryan and Esposito were playing a heated game of paper football, filled with whispered accusations of cheating and suppressed grunts of victory, that they had to abandon every time Gates looked or came out of her office, at which point they would resume their fake paperwork.

Beckett, however, _was_ doing paperwork, and Castle sat in his spot beside her desk. He had been playing on his phone for so long, she wondered if he had some secret phone that only rich people could buy that had a magic battery. He was fidgety, but quiet for once. He hadn't spoken to her in over an hour, but she knew it was just a matter of time before he—

"Did you know that most murders in New York City occur on Saturday nights?" he asked, barely looking up from his phone.

"Hmph," she muttered, trying not to engage.

"Oh, and it's a full moon tonight, even though scientists have yet to prove that more crimes actually occur on nights with a full moon …"

"Your point being …" Beckett replied with as little enthusiasm as possible.

"My point is simple—that we should have a case by now. The moon is full, and it's a Saturday night. How come no one is killing anybody?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," she said, stapling some papers together.

"It's not bad per se—"

"Per se?" she replied, finally cracking a smile.

"I'm just ready to work, I guess," Castle said, looking back down at his phone.

"Well, considering you're a writer, shouldn't you be writing?"

"Still not taking me seriously, Detective," he replied in mock hurt. "Shame on you."

"Just go home, Castle. I'll call you if we get something."

"Can't go home."

"Why?" she asked, putting down her pen.

"Mother is having a cocktail party for her new cast mates in a revival of _Les __Misérables_ off-off Broadway. She made me leave, said I would steal the spotlight. She wanted to be the Belle of the Ball, not the mother of a handsome and famous writer."

"Had to throw the handsome part in there, didn't you?" she smirked.

He put up his hands in surrender. "I only speak the truth, Detective."

She laughed at him. "Why don't you go to your bar, have a drink?"

"Will you come with me?"

"No, I'm _working_, Castle. Us _miserables _have to earn a living, you know," she told him, starting to stack the papers and put sticky notes where Gates would need to sign off on them.

"Can we at least go get a burger or something?" he tried.

"You ate an hour ago—half a pizza, I recall."

"Well, these huge muscles of mine really need—"

She cut him off with one of her death stares and he stopped talking.

"Don't you have a new game or app to try out? Or we could put you on a computer and maybe you could actually write something."

"No," he sighed. "I'll just stick with Stupid Zombies."

"Stupid Zombies?"

"Yes," he said, getting excited. He leaned over to show her his phone. "They are really stupid; they just stand there and you get to shoot them. You can even shoot their heads off. Of course it gets more complicated …"

"It always does," she said, knowingly.

"It's cool," he insisted.

"You could make us some fresh coffee," she hinted, sliding her empty mug over to him.

"So, I'm Coffee Boy now?"

"You always were Coffee Boy," Esposito said, as he and Ryan walked over. "I'll take a double cappuccino, light on the foam."

Beckett stifled a laugh at Castle's wounded look.

"After all these years, that's all I am to you? Coffee Boy?"

"It used to be Writer Boy, but since you don't seem to be doing much of that lately, Coffee Boy it is," Kate teased.

"I will have you know, Detective, that I am always writing. In here," he said, tapping his head. "Genius takes time."

"Oh, and writing about Nikki Heat solving crimes in her skimpy underwear is the product of this so-called genius?" she retaliated.

"She always has clothes on when she solves crimes!" Castle defended.

"Come on, Coffee Boy. Chop chop!" Ryan cut in.

"Maybe you can get that on a vest, Castle. Coffee Boy to the rescue!" Kate laughed.

"Maybe you could earn your paychecks by coming into my office right now," Gates said, suddenly standing right beside them, causing them all to jump. Castle dropped his phone in Beckett's trashcan, but was too scared to retrieve it.

"I mean it, my office, now," she called back to them, heading into her office.

They all pulled chairs into Gates' office and put on their serious faces.

"I just got a call," she started. "We have a rather unorthodox case and I want this team on it immediately."

"What happened, sir?" Kate asked.

"It's rather unfortunate, a tragedy really, and there was a big screwup that the Commissioner is keen on downplaying," she said.

"A man was brought into St. John's in Queens after a motorcycle accident on the Long Island Expressway. He was very badly injured—punctured lung, broken ribs, a broken leg—and was in a coma for two days.

"He woke up tonight and the first question he asked medical personnel was, 'Where is my wife?' He said his wife had been riding with him on the bike.

"Apparently the wife had been thrown from the motorcycle during the crash and had landed about twenty yards away. The onsite personnel assumed it was only the man on the bike and so never searched the area. When they went back, they found her, her body obscured by the bushes off the shoulder."

Here, Gates looked human for a split second.

"They determined that she had bled out and that, if found in time, her injuries would not have been fatal."

"She was dead?" Castle gasped.

They all looked at him like he was stupid and then Gates proceeded.

"Yes, Mr. Castle, she was dead and her death could have been avoided if she had been found at the time of the accident."

"Sir, this is certainly a tragedy, but what does this have to do with us?" Beckett interjected.

"Initial findings suggest that this may not have been an accident."

"What initial findings?" Esposito asked.

"The wife's mother has told police he and his wife had been fighting lately and that he had threatened to kill her recently. She said he had a violent temper."

"How is that even possible?" Castle intervened, incredulous. "He intentionally wrecks his bike, suffering multiple, horrific injuries, and somehow manages to throw his wife twenty yards away from the scene just before falling into a coma?"

"I agree, Sir, perhaps the mother is just upset and is looking for someone to blame," Beckett spoke up.

"I would agree with you if that wasn't all. Turns out the husband saw a stranger near his bike before they left the bar to go home."

"Is there any evidence that the bike was tampered with? Or any witnesses?" Ryan inquired.

Gates shook her head. "That bike was in about a thousand charred pieces when they got to the scene. And since it only looked like an accident at the time, they were transported to a local salvage yard. Our people had to go find the pieces at the yard, most of which were in a dumpster because they were unusable. They just got them to impound and they are looking over them now."

"None of this proves a murder took place," Beckett said.

"No, but it can't be ruled out either," Gates said, matter-of-factly.

"Why can't they handle it over there? Why are we getting involved?" Esposito asked.

"This case is of a very serious nature and needs to be handled by the best," Gates explained. She stood up and sat down on the side of her desk.

"The solve rate for murders in New York City is 59 percent. This team has a solve rate of 87 percent."

"Seriously?" Castle asked. "I am so going to Tweet that!"

"If I even see a phone in your hand, I will send you home, Mr. Castle."

"Okay, but that kick-ass solve rate has to be because of me."

"Bro," Esposito said, shaking his head.

"Sorry. And no Tweets. Promise," Castle replied seriously.

"Beckett, I want you to interview the victim and get his story. Detectives Ryan and Esposito, I want you to look into their lives and find out if anyone had motive to kill them. I also want you to canvass the bar and the patrons and find out more about this mysterious stranger."

"No problem, Sir. We're on it," Esposito said, taking the file from Gates. They left the office and headed back to their desks for their jackets.

"Beckett, I don't have to tell you how bad this makes the city look, but I want to be clear that we are not trying to cover anything up. The wife's family will be suing the city for wrongful death and I don't blame her.

"Our job is to do everything possible to find out who was responsible for this and for that, we need the best team in New York City.

"Let me be clear—I want this case solved and wrapped up with a pretty bow. When it hits the media, when her case goes to court, I want that family to know that we did everything possible to find the killer, or to rule out murder altogether. Do you understand me?"

"Absolutely, sir." Beckett nodded and stood up. As they left the precinct, Castle grabbed his phone from the trash and put it on vibrate.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Billy Martin was conscious when they walked into his room. Tubes and monitors surrounded him, his leg was elevated, and his face was cut and bruised. None of this covered up the fact that he was a very large and intimidating man, though. He had tattoos everywhere and his long, black hair was splayed out on the pillow.

Used to seeing dead bodies and not living, breathing still-alive people, Kate took a deep breath and was about to introduce herself when he spoke to them.

"You're here about Katie," Martin said quietly.

Beckett's heart leapt at the sound of her childhood name, but the shock never showed on her face.

"Mr. Martin, I'm Detective Beckett, New York City Homicide. This is Mr. Castle, my partner," she said business-like, gesturing toward Castle who was still by the door, obviously not comfortable coming all the way into the room. She gave him a weird look, but continued with her investigation.

"Tell me what happened, Mr. Martin."

"We were at Shiners Bar, having drinks with some friends. One of my buddies just got engaged, so we were celebrating. At about 1:00am, Katie and I decided to leave. She had to work in the morning and … we just left. Got on the bike and rode a few miles on the 495, and then … I still don't remember much of what happened after that, ma'am."

"What caused the accident? Do you remember that? Was there an object on the road? Someone cut you off, maybe?"

"I don't think so."

"Is the bike yours?"

"Yes, a 1984 Harley Electra Glide Classic that I've had for years. Kept her in mint condition. I know that bike like the back of my hand. No one touches her but me."

"So you feel confident you could have handled something that might have come up?"

"Yes, ma'am, I know how to handle her," he replied.

Beckett looked over her shoulder really quickly, puzzled as to why Castle was still hovering in the background, but he just gave her an encouraging look, so she proceeded.

"Mr. Martin—" she began.

"Call me Billy, please," he said politely, very soft-spoken, not what she expected from a huge motorcycle dude. She was about to offer her real name to connect with him more personally, but caught herself in time.

"Okay, Billy. When you first talked to the police, you mentioned that you had seen someone near your bike that night?"

He nodded. "We go to Shiners a lot—it's kind of our place. I had never seen that dude before. I walked one of my buddies out to say goodnight and I saw the dude kneeling in front of my bike."

"Did you say anything to him?"

"Yeah, I said, 'Dude, what the fuck are you doing with my bike?'"

"What did he say?"

"Nothing. He just stood up, went to his bike, fired her up, and was gone in about 30 seconds."

"Do you remember what he looked like?"

He shook his head. "It was dark. He had black leathers and his helmet was shaded."

"What about his bike?"

"Seemed like a typical weekend warrior bike to me—a Ducati Monster I think. Yellow. Looked like he could barely handle it."

"And you didn't see the plate?"

"No," he said, sadly. "I just blew it off, said goodbye to my buddy, and went back inside."

"When was this?" Beckett asked, scribbling more notes on her pad.

"About 11:30pm I guess," he told her.

"Billy, I already saw your BOC for that night. You were well under the limit, but you had been drinking that night, correct?" she asked.

"Yes, I had one shot when I first got there and then nursed a couple of beers all night. Not much of a drinker anyway, and am really against riding while intoxicated," he said seriously.

"Billy, I have to ask you a few tough questions now. Are you ready?"

He shifted to sit more upright. After he had settled again, he nodded.

"Had you and Katie been fighting lately?" she began.

He shook his head.

"Have you ever been violent with Katie?"

"What? Are you kidding? I've never touched her. I've never done that to any woman—I never would," he said, emphatically.

"Did you and Katie fight the night of the accident?"

"What? No? Who put you up to this? I don't understand," Billy replied in anguish. He tried to move again and sucked air through his teeth loudly when he did.

"Billy, please calm down. I have to ask these kinds of questions. It's routine," she reassured him.

"What are you getting at?"

Beckett thought about mentioning the wife's mother and her accusations, but wasn't sure she should. He didn't need to get anymore riled up than he already was. Still not sure though, she looked back at Castle who shook his head quickly, mouthing the word "no."

Kate turned back to Billy. "In situations where a spouse is killed, we have to rule out the possibility that the spouse was responsible. It's just a formality."

"Are you saying I killed Katie?" he demanded, not so soft spoken anymore.

"Did you?" she replied automatically.

He made a noise then, that kind of started out as a laugh, but ended up in a sob. He looked away from Beckett then, probably to hide the tears that were streaming out of his eyes. After a few moments, he had collected himself again and looked back at the detective.

"I met Katie when she was seventeen. We've been married for over twenty years. She stuck with me through everything, even when I went to prison for six months," he stopped then, beginning to tear up again. Still he pushed on.

"I would never hurt her. I would never kill her. If I could trade places with her right now, I would," he paused again, and swallowed deeply.

"Is there someone you want us to call to be here with you? Have you talked with Katie's family?" Beckett explored, trying to indirectly bring up the issue with the mother.

"Katie's only got her mom and her sister. Erin came by once, brought flowers, but I haven't seen her since they found out about Katie. Beverly never liked me—even since high school, she always thought Katie could do better than me. Katie wasn't really close to either of them, but she would see her sis every once in a while …"

Beckett noticed he was starting to lose focus and doze off. She wracked her brain for anything else she should ask.

"Any of your family you want us to call?" she slipped in.

He shook his head. "She's all I had," he said it so softly, Beckett barely heard him.

"Thanks, Billy, get some rest now," she told him, but he had already fallen asleep.

On the ride back to the precinct, Castle was still quiet and somewhat subdued. Finally, she asked him what was wrong.

"Do you know what they call motorcycle accident victims in the ER?" he asked, quietly.

"No, what?"

"Organ donors," he said stiffly. He took a deep breath, ran his hands over his face and through his hair, obviously upset.

"You okay over there?" she asked, concerned.

"Yeah, I guess. His story just got to me."

"What about it?"

"All of it. How terrible he looked. How upset he was. How much he loved her. How alone he is," he paused. "The fact that her name was Katie …" he trailed off.

She put a hand on his knee for a moment and gave him a little squeeze. She was surprised when he didn't say something dirty or make a pass at her. It was like he barely registered her presence. She took her hand back and tried to get him to re-focus on the case.

"So you believe his story?"

"Of course I do. Don't you?"

"When I interview men who have killed their wives, they usually get all defensive and try to blame anyone or anything they can think of. Billy didn't do that. He was upset at the question, but I think it was only because he loved her so much."

"And how could he have killed her anyway? Seems like shooting or stabbing someone is much easier than trying to time a motorcycle accident that will kill your wife and leave you alive."

"You think the mother just made all that stuff up? About them fighting? About him threatening to kill her?"

"Absolutely. He himself admitted she never liked him. And the fact that Katie was estranged from her mother … like you said, she's just upset that her daughter is gone and wants to blame someone. He's an easy target."

"So you think this whole thing is just an accident?" she asked, still not sure of her opinion on the matter.

"I would … but that dude near his bike is strange. What guy goes up to another guy's bike and kneels in front of it? It's just weird."

"It is weird," she agreed. "Without that, I would be ready to write this off as an accident, but Gates wants us to explore all possibilities …"

"Maybe Ryan and Espo have come up with something. And we should also see if it's even possible to tamper with a motorcycle enough to cause a crash," Castle added.

"And it's going to be a while before they can really investigate the motorcycle itself. From what Gates said, it sounds like it's beyond totaled.

Kate's phone rang then. She clicked the button. "Beckett."

She listened for a few seconds and then replied, "Okay, see you there."

Castle looked over at her.

"Boys are on their way back over to the station. We'll meet up and see what we've found so far."

Castle only nodded and then looked out the window. They spent the rest of the ride back in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

Later, they all sat in front of the newly created board, trying to get a read on the information they had gathered so far.

"So, find anything interesting at Shiners?" Kate asked.

Ryan flipped over a page in his notebook. "Not really. Same bartender as the night of the accident. He said the vic and his wife were regulars, seemed happy enough, never caused any problems."

"Did the bartender know anything about the stranger near Martin's bike?" Kate followed up.

"Nada," Esposito replied. "She said the bar is mostly regulars, mostly bikers. But it was pretty crowded that night because of a Harley Convention that had been going on all week. She said there were lots of new people in there, but no one caught her eye."

"Did you find any patrons who saw the man by his bike?"

"Yeah, actually, we did," Ryan said. "We found Martin's friend, the one he was saying goodbye to when they saw the dude by his bike. His name is Travis Pool. He told us the guy was in all black with a helmet that shielded his face."

"That's pretty much what Martin told us," Castle offered.

"Yeah, but he did say that everything the dude was wearing was brand new, even his boots. He thought the bike might have even been rented because he didn't pull out very smoothly."

"That doesn't narrow it down much, considering the convention. There were probably tons of white collar guys trying to live the biker life for a week."

"He did say there was a snake on the guy's helmet," Ryan found in his notes.

"What kind of snake? Did you get a drawing or something?" Kate asked, adding the detail to the board.

"He said it was a gold cobra, coiled up, about to strike, with his tongue out," Ryan read from his notes.

"Anything else?" she asked, turning toward him.

"He said the bike was a yellow Ducati Monster, that it looked pretty new."

"Any surveillance cameras at the bar?" Castle interjected.

"Only one, right behind the bar that faced out into the crowd. It doesn't show anything outside," Ryan said.

"I guess we could try and have a look. Maybe we could see the guy in the footage," Kate replied.

"Doubtful," Esposito sighed. "No dude is going to wear his helmet in the bar. Everyone was probably dressed in black leather and we don't have any other distinguishing features."

"Let's get the footage anyway. Maybe Travis Pool could pick him out."

"Got it," Ryan answered.

"What about you guys? Anything?" Esposito asked.

"Martin was pretty broken up about his wife's death. I seriously doubt he wanted to kill her, much less set up some elaborate accident to try to kill her. It sounds impossible to me," Castle replied.

"Yeah," Kate agreed. "His grief didn't look fake to me. He wasn't defensive and he was very forthright."

"Did you bring up the wife's mom?"

"Yes," Kate reported. "He said she never liked him and that he and Katie had not been fighting, nor had he ever hurt her physically. Did you talk to the mom?"

Esposito nodded. "She was crying and pretty much hysterical, but she did back off her comments when we pressed. She said that she wished she had been closer to her daughter and that Martin wasn't all that bad."

"She also said she hadn't really talked to her daughter in nearly six months, so she didn't know if they had bad blood with anyone," Ryan finished.

"What about the sister?" Castle asked.

"She was home in bed, on tranquilizers that the doctor prescribed. We'll pick her up in the morning and bring her in for questioning," Esposito explained.

"And we'll run down that footage from the bar camera and get Travis Pool in here to take a look," Ryan added.

Kate sighed and looked at the sparse board before her. "Anything else?"

After getting no reply, Kate capped her marker, set it down, and then faced them. "It's late. Let's sleep on it and get back on it first thing tomorrow."

"Sure thing, boss," Esposito answered. After grabbing their jackets, the boys walked toward the elevator, got on, and disappeared.

"I'll fill Gates on what we have so far," she told Castle. "You can go on home. See you tomorrow—if you want to come in, of course."

"I'll be here," he replied, turning away from her.

Kate grabbed her phone, dialed Gates' number, and went into the break room to get a glass of water. After filling Gates in, she walked back to her desk, grabbed her things, and took the elevator down to the lobby. When she stepped out onto the sidewalk, she was surprised to see Castle standing in front of the building.

"Castle?" she inquired. "What's going on? Why are you still here?"

When he looked up at her, she was surprised to see his face—his face was puffy and a little pale.

"Are you okay?" she said, more gently, walking up to him.

He shrugged and turned away from her a bit.

"Castle, what's wrong?" she asked, concern in her voice. She put her hand on his arm and shifted until she was in front of him again.

"You're going to laugh at me," he said, gruffly.

"No, I'm not. I would never do that," she insisted.

He sighed, looked up at the sky for a moment, and then spoke again. "This case is just getting to me, I guess," he sighed.

"Because we don't have much to go on?" she asked.

"No, because of how incredibly sad it is. They were married for over twenty years. To lose her like that … how do you move on from something like that? Knowing she could have been saved. Having to sit in that hospital bed with nothing to look forward to, no family, your wife gone, not knowing if it was your fault or not …" his voice was shaking.

Without a word, she stepped forward and took him in her arms. He joked and fooled around so much, she sometimes forgot how sensitive he could be. He let her hold him for the briefest moment before pulling away roughly. She let him go and frowned when he took a step back.

"If I ever lost someone like that, someone I loved that much—the not knowing, the unanswered questions would kill me," he said, softly.

"I can't imagine," she agreed. "It would be horrible."

"We spend so much time taking things for granted, that the people we love will always be with us. But they could be gone"—he snapped his fingers—"just like that., without ever knowing how much we really loved them."

"The people in your life—Alexis, Martha—they know how much you love them," she replied, trying to make him feel better.

"The people in my life?" he whispered.

His voice sounded strange and when she looked at him, he did not look comforted. In fact, he looked even more upset. His reddened eyes narrowed and he was clenching his teeth together. She shivered at the change in his mood. What had she said?

"My driver is right across the street, Beckett. Please take the car. I want to know that you got home safely," he told her, rather impersonally.

"Castle, thanks, but, I'm fine … why don't you just …" she started.

"Please just take the car. I'll feel better if I know you got home safely," he said, starting to get restless on his feet.

"I'm fine. I'll just cab it," she refused.

"Just take the damn car!" he exploded, looking her right in the eye. "Just … just let me have that."

Beckett stared at him, wide eyed, shocked at his outburst.

"Okay," she managed.

He looked at her one more time before saying a terse thank you and heading down the street. She didn't follow him or call after him. She didn't know what to say. She went across the street, got in the car, and made it home—safely—twenty minutes later.

* * *

The house was quiet and dark when he got home. Of course, it was a wreck—glasses, wine bottles, and leftover food covered nearly every surface of the kitchen and living room, but it didn't bother him as much as it normally would.

He took a quick trip upstairs to look in on Alexis, something he hadn't done in years, but the sight of her sleeping soundly was a comfort to him.

He ended up in his study, in one of his leather chairs, with a half full glass of scotch in his hand. He leaned his head back on the cushion and sighed, feeling tears come to his eyes again.

He started to ask himself what the hell was wrong with him, but he already knew the answer. He had never been good at lying to himself. He knew his thoughts and feelings intimately. Being a writer, he spent a lot of time in his head, and it's hard to run from your thoughts when they are constantly swirling around in your brain.

He took a sip of his scotch and thought back to the day Kate came to his book signing after having not talked with her for three months. He remembered how mad he had been, how hurt, not understanding for even a second why she would push him away like that after all that had happened.

He had been happy to see her and had eventually gotten over the hurt, but he still could picture how skinny and withdrawn she had appeared. He could remember the shadows on her face, her cheeks hollow and sunken in. She had been so shaky and so uncharacteristically vulnerable. He hadn't had the heart to hold back his forgiveness, not when she looked like she would disappear at any moment.

And then his thoughts drifted further back, to the day she was shot—the moment he told her that he loved her, the moment her eyes closed, the tears streaming down her face. He thought he had lost her; he thought she was dying, which was the only reason why he had even risked revealing his true feelings to her.

"And she doesn't even remember!" he said aloud, bitterly, to no one.

He finished off the scotch and wanted another, but the bottle on his desk looked too far away. He didn't have the energy. He let the empty glass fall to the carpet.

This night had reminded him of the thing that scared him the most—not that she would reject him, or that she would date someone else, or stop the ride-alongs, or anything like that.

This night reminded him that he could lose her—forever—in just the blink of an eye. That she could be warm and alive and standing beside him one moment and on the ground and bleeding the next. It reminded him that he could be like Billy, happy and madly in love, and then irreversibly and inconceivably devastated in just a few seconds.

And he didn't even "have" Kate. From their conversation at the swings, she had implied that she wanted to be with him, that she just needed time, but who knows what could happen while they were waiting for her walls to come down? She could meet another Josh, or a Demming. She could be shot again, or injured, or hit by a bus. Anything could happen. There was a reason for the old adage—_carpe diem_.

Did they even know what they were waiting for? Would there be a magical day when her walls came down and she finally let him in? Even if they solved her mother's case, would that finally allow them to be together?

He would help her with her mother's case and he would wait, for as long as it took, but at times like these, he felt like Sisyphus, pushing that rock up a hill every day, praying for a different outcome, but always watching the rock slide back down.

He had known her for four years now and after all they had been through, walls or not, he still didn't really understand why she pushed him away, why she wasted days, weeks, months, years even, going about her life like everything would still be the same tomorrow.

He loved her; he cared about her; he respected her and would never do anything to hurt her, but on nights like this—he hated her. He hated her for denying them happiness and hated her for taking this amazing thing they had and relegating it to the back burner.

Yeah, he would wait—they both knew that—but she didn't know how lucky she was that someone was willing to do that for her. To let her call all the shots, dictate all the terms, steer the vessel. Sometimes, he didn't know how he did it. He had everything one could want in life, but he could barely enjoy it anymore, could hardly think about anything else but how much he wanted to be with her.

He was a writer, a romantic, a seize-the-day, live-in-the-moment kind of person who was in love with a rational, impossible, and insanely strong willed woman who surrounded herself in a fortress.

And there was no way into that fortress—no key, no way to burn it down, no way to climb its walls, no way he could charm himself in there. All he could do was stand outside it and hope. And the way he felt now, her walls might as well go all the way to the sky.

He closed his eyes then, letting his sadness and frustration run through him. After all, there was always tomorrow, right?


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

"Thanks for coming in Miss Mathews," Kate said to the young, trembling girl sitting before her in the interrogation room.

"You can call me Erin," she sniffled.

"Please know how sorry we are for your loss," Castle said gently, reaching over and patting the girl's hand. Beckett was surprised for a second—she had never seen Castle touch anyone in the room before—but Erin seemed to appreciate it. She smiled and thanked him.

"If there is anything we can get for you while you're here, please let us know," he offered.

"Can I have some coffee? I'm still groggy from the sleeping pills," she told him.

"Absolutely!" Castle answered. "I'll be right back."

Kate was shocked when he jumped up from his seat and left the room, but didn't say anything. They still hadn't talked. They had just come in to work to find Erin waiting for them. They had barely even said hello, so she was still reeling a bit from last night.

"When was the last time you talked with your sister?" Kate asked, trying to get things rolling.

"About a week ago. She came by the restaurant where I worked and we had dinner after my shift."

"What did you talk about?"

"The usual, I guess. Mom, mostly. How she is driving me crazy trying to find me a boyfriend so I can get married. And our aunt—she has cancer that's real bad. We promised each other we would go visit her more often."

"How did Katie seem?"

"Fine," Erin shrugged. "Happy. She was always happy …"

The door swung open and Castle brought in a steaming mug of coffee, along with some creamer and sugar. He set it down in front of her and smiled. She returned the smile, dumped some sugar in, stirred it, and took a sip.

"Thanks, it's good," she said to Castle.

"Just let me know if you need a refill," he told her.

Beckett tried to get over her annoyance—why was she annoyed anyway? Maybe because this was eerily turning into some good cop/bad cop scene? Or maybe that he hadn't looked at her once since getting to the precinct?

"Did Katie seem upset by anything when you talked with her?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Did she talk about any problems she might be having at home? At work?"

"She did bring up Donny, but he's been on her for years. Nothing new."

"Who is Donny? And what do you mean he was 'on' her?" Beckett followed up.

"Donny is her boss. She worked at a travel agency and he's been in love with her for like, forever. He just teases her, you know? Talks to her about running off to paradise together and stuff like that."

"What travel agency?"

"Destinations," Erin told her. "It's in Flushing."

"Do you know Donny?" Castle asked.

"Yeah," she told them. "He's like a million years old and has been in love with her for years. He's kind of crazy, but he's okay. Katie was his highest seller, so he gave her raises and bonuses, stuff like that."

"Okay," Beckett replied. "So, how well did you know Billy?"

"I love Billy. He's been so good for Katie. Mom's always hated him, but he's the best. I just wish he had a brother," she half-smiled.

"How did they meet?"

Now Erin smiled for real. "Katie was a senior in high school and Billy was about twenty. Katie had a boyfriend who rode motorcycles and needed something fixed, so she went with him to the shop where Billy worked. He's a mechanic.

"He became friends with Katie, showed her how to ride and fix bikes, and helped her get her job at the agency. They always joked about how long Billy had waited for her. He stuck it out through two more boyfriends before he finally asked her out. It was something like three years he waited. He said the minute he saw her, he knew she was the one, that he would have waited forever if he had to. She said she wasted three years of happiness."

Beckett felt a knot in her stomach and her face burned. She didn't risk looking at Castle. "So, were there any problems between your sister and Billy?"

Erin shook her head. "They were perfect together. It was almost kind of gross. They never fought. He was always buying her gifts, bringing flowers to her work. He was a lot better than most guys from home."

"Why didn't your mom like him?" Castle asked him.

Erin shrugged again. "Probably just jealous. Katie and I don't have the same dad. Her dad died when she was about five and all I ever heard about him were good things. My daddy's a jerk. He drinks and they fought all the time. Finally got sense enough to leave him, but she's been alone ever since. She gave Billy a hard time after he got busted for weed and had to go to jail for, but it was just an excuse. I think she was just jealous of how happy they were together."

"Erin," Beckett started. "Is there anyone in your sister's life that would have wanted to hurt her? Or Billy?"

"No, no one I can think of. I went to their parties sometimes. I've met their friends. They all seem happy. They take trips on their bikes all the time, always helping each other out," she paused. "They kind of made me jealous," she said, looking down.

"Sounds like your sister had a great life," Castle mused.

"Yeah," Erin agreed, and then the tears came to her eyes. "Not anymore …"

And then Erin started crying harder. Beckett handed her a box of tissues, while Castle scooted closer to her and tried to comfort her.

"I'll be right back," Beckett announced, seemingly to no one since neither of them acknowledged her.

She went into the observation room. "So, what do you think?" she asked Gates.

"I think that girl just lost her biggest idol. With the different fathers, there is a ten-year age gap between them, and I think Erin thought the world of her sister. This has got to be hard on her."

"Everything she's told us has pretty much matched what Mr. Martin told us."

Gates nodded. "I don't think she knows anything … if there is anything to know. Cut her loose and let's move on."

"Yes, sir," Kate replied, going back into the room.

Castle had the girl smiling by the time she got back.

"Erin, you can go now. Thanks so much for talking with us. I'll have an officer drive you home," she told her.

"We'll make sure he's cute," Castle said, winking at her, making her laugh.

"Castle, let's go," Beckett said, all business. Castle ruffled the girl's hair a bit and then followed Beckett out of the room.

* * *

Kate was hoping for a minute alone with Castle, but the minute they walked back into the bullpen, they met up with the boys and shared more information.

For the rest of the day, they interviewed the Martins' friends and coworkers, who all gave the same story—that Billy and Katie were happy and in love, and that no one had any beef with them. Travis Pool was not able to finger the stranger from the video from the bar. They brought in Donny, Katie's boss in, who was nearly eighty and obviously cared a great deal for her, not any kind of jealous stalker or anything. He could barely talk to them, he was crying so hard. The boys also went back to the bar, but didn't find anything new. They found nothing about the yellow Ducati—only a few had been purchased or rented lately and the people associated with them had all alibied out. Nothing on the snake helmet either.

Around 7pm, they all stood around the board, Gates included, in complete silence.

"So, people, what do we think?" Gates asked.

"If there wasn't that guy by Mr. Martin's bike, I'd say this was just a tragic accident," Beckett answered.

The boys nodded.

"What kind of motive would anyone have to kill them anyway? They weren't rich. They didn't have any enemies. Everyone freaking loved them," Esposito noted.

"What are the most common motives for murder?" Castle prompted.

"Money."

"Revenge."

"To cover up a crime."

"And?" Castle prompted.

They all looked at him questioningly.

"Jealousy," Kate answered, looking straight at him.

"Exactly. All I can think is that maybe someone was jealous of them, of what they had, how much they loved each other," Castle explained.

"Really, bro? Isn't that kind of a stretch?"

"People have killed each other for _sneakers_," Castle reminded him. "Besides, it's the only thing I can think of—if it even was a murder."

"Beckett, how are you leaning?" Gates asked.

Beckett thought for a moment before answering. "All of their friends loved them, but didn't seem jealous of them. They got to share in it; plus, most of them were married couples anyway. But as Castle and I saw, even Erin and her mom were jealous of what they had."

"Yeah, but jealous enough to kill her sister or daughter? _That's_ a stretch," Ryan countered.

"Have we missed anybody?" Gates asked.

They all shook their heads. The Martins life wasn't complicated. They worked, they rode, and they hung out with their friends. They had a house, but had a mortgage and certainly not enough money for that to be the motive. They had a small group of friends and that was pretty much it. It was hard to believe either one of them had ever made even one enemy.

"Erin mentioned a few boyfriends before Katie started dating Billy," Castle pondered aloud, trying to cover every angle.

"Yeah, but that was like twenty years ago. That's a long time to lie in wait, plotting a murder. Besides, they were even friends with one of her old boyfriends. He worked with Billy in the shop."

They all fell silent again.

"So besides the stranger at the bar, we wouldn't even be thinking murder, would we?" Gates rationalized.

"No sir, but we can hardly ignore it. Plus, we are still waiting for news about Mr. Martin's bike," Beckett replied.

Gates sighed and then seemed to make her mind up about something. "Go home, people. Get some rest. Think on it. We'll meet up again tomorrow morning before the press conference."

"What press conference?" Esposito asked.

"The one where the city has to admit that they left an injured woman out on a highway to die," Gates told him.

"But they didn't know …" Ryan said.

"No, they didn't. But that hardly matters now. They did their jobs that night—there was no reason to think anyone else was on the bike. But they were unlucky, and now it's time for damage control."

"Will the city settle with the family?"

"Let's hope so. Nobody wants to see this tragedy get uglier," Gates said, turning to leave.

Everyone started to disperse, when Gates spoke again, "Beckett, a word?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, looking back at Castle as she followed Gates to her office. He didn't even turn around, just followed the boys out of the office.

Once they were inside, with the door closed, Gates leveled with her. "I know this is probably an accident, but we need to be sure. You tell me all the time how Castle thinks out of the box, so I want to see what you guys can come up with. I want a list of ideas—no matter how far out of the box they are—by morning. Understand?"

Kate gulped. A brainstorming with Castle. After last night? She hedged for a moment.

"Is there a problem, Beckett?" Gates asked, picking up the phone.

"No, sir," she answered quickly.

"Good. Now you're dismissed."

Beckett left her office and looked around the bullpen for Castle. She looked in the break room and the rest room before she noticed his jacket was gone. Had he seriously just left without saying anything?

Cussing to herself, she found her phone and dialed his number. No answer. She tried again. Straight to voicemail. Frustrated, she texted him.

_My place. 8pm. Gates' orders. I'll get pizza and beer._

And then she grabbed her stuff and headed home.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Kate had just finished organizing all of their evidence and witness statements when she heard the knock on the door. She looked at her watch. 8:25pm. Was he serious?

When she opened the door, he briskly walked past her, tossed his jacket on the rack, and collapsed like a lump on the couch. Rolling her eyes, she sat beside him. They both stared at the papers on the coffee table.

"So, what's up?" he asked lightly.

Kate was so frustrated, she was afraid she was either going to start yelling or crying, and neither option seemed conducive to brainstorming.

Sighing, she got up and went to the kitchen.

"I ordered your favorite—pepperoni and extra mushrooms," she called over to him as she got out plates.

She thought he nodded, but he didn't say anything.

"And I picked up your favorite beer," she added, opening the fridge and pulling two out.

Still no answer, so she put the bottle opener in her pocket, stuck the two beers under her arm, and grabbed the two plates of pizza. When she made it back to the couch, he took his plate and beer when she offered, but set them both down, still not looking at her.

Once she was settled, she popped the tops off both beers and set Castle's down in front of him. She took a large gulp of liquid courage and steeled herself for what was next.

"It's going to be pretty hard to work on the case if you won't talk to me."

He didn't respond, just looked down at the table. He still hadn't touched his food or drink.

"Or look at me," she continued.

He got up then and walked behind the couch to look out the windows.

She sighed, clasped her hands together, and dropped her head down. What the hell was going on?

"Thanks for the ride last night," she tried. "I appreciate it and I did get home safe."

"Good," she heard him say.

"Really tough case, huh?" she said, trying another route.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

God, she couldn't take this. She put her beer down, walked around the couch, and stood next to him.

"Castle," she whispered.

He tried to take a step away from her, but she wasn't having it. She put her hand on his arm and made him face her.

"What did I do?" she said, exasperated.

He shook his head.

Finally, she lost it and grabbed both of his arms. "What the hell did I do, Castle? Please … I can't take this silent treatment from you. It really hurts!"

At her last word, he finally looked up at her. And even though they had looked at each other a hundred times, a thousand times, for the first time, Kate was surprised to realize that she was truly seeing him. The scared fourteen-year-old boy at boarding school, writing about being homesick. The man with a daughter. With a mother. All the slickness and polish and celebrity was washed away, leaving only him—the man, it seemed, she had always wanted to see in him.

Overcome, she closed her eyes and leaned into him, not exactly with thoughts of kissing him. More thoughts of wanting to be close to him, to feel his warm breath on her cheek, to press against his chest and feel safe, maybe.

Before she touched him though, she opened her eyes for a split second, and stopped herself. She didn't let go of him, but she didn't move closer to him. The look from before was gone. It was like a stranger was standing before her now.

She dropped her hands from him then, but before she could move away, he reached one hand for hers and held it.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. He sighed then. "I just don't have the words. I'm in …"—he gritted his teeth then—"I'm just hurting."

"Because of the case?" she asked, trying to be patient and gentle with him, noticing, for the first time as well, how fragile he could be.

He didn't answer immediately. He struggled with his words. "Yes, the case … but more …"

"More how?"

He shook his head, getting agitated again, He pulled his hand away from hers and folded his arms around his chest.

His body language confused her, and though it made her want to touch him all the more, she held back. Did she really want to know what was hurting him? Did she really want to get that involved?

And then she scolded herself immediately. What was wrong with her? This was Castle. He would do anything for her. And had.

She had to be present with him now. It scared her to death, but there was no other way through this. She couldn't risk hurting him further, because she was beginning to think that this had something to do with her.

"Just tell me what's wrong, Castle. Maybe I can help," she offered.

He gave her a strange look—an of-course-you-can-help-me kind of look.

"Tell me, she insisted.

"I don't want to be here," he said after a long pause.

"Why?" she asked, not expecting that at all.

"It's hard for me," he mumbled.

"Why?" she asked, even more confused.

He dropped his arms and then slung both hands in his pockets. It had a boyish quality to it, that action. She had to force herself not to smile at the adorableness of it.

"Uh, Kate, do you remember the swings? That day we talked?"

"Yes, I do," she replied, instantly serious. For weeks now, she had been wanting to broach this subject again. But of course, she procrastinated. Endlessly.

"Well, Kate," his voice sounded weird. "How are those walls coming?"

She took a step back from him, needing some distance. He smiled sadly and shook his head.

"You backing away from me—not exactly a good sign."

"I didn't back away," she insisted. "It surprised me."

"Do you have an answer?"

Kate pressed her lips together, brought the back of her hand to her forehead, and took a deep breath.

"I'm getting better. I've been seeing a therapist. I am sleeping more. I've put on weight in the past few months. I'm not jumping at loud noises anymore," she laughed lightly.

"Kate, do you know what I am really asking about?" he said softly.

She ran both hands through her hair, closed her eyes, and sighed deeply. She kept her face enigmatic.

After a moment in this pose, her hands dropped to her hips, and she stood up straighter. She needed to be strong. She couldn't run from this right now. She raised her eyes to him.

"Yes," she said, suddenly not feeling so strong.

"And …?" he pushed her.

God, what was she supposed to say? She didn't want to push him away, but she didn't want to give him hope either. She still wasn't ready.

Still, she faced him.

He had cocked his head at her and seemed to have grown taller. The hurt look was gone; he seemed more formidable now, more a rock than a liability. She felt a pull in her abdomen. Clenching her fists, she buried it as quickly as it had come.

"Do you like me?" he asked then, and she seriously wanted to punch him square in the face. But the way he said it, how sweet it had sounded.

She tried to smile. "Of course I like you. Of course."

"So, how 'bout dem walls der, then?" he said in this weird Billy Crystal/pirate/cowboy/Pop-Eye accent that rubbed them both the wrong way.

As much as the question had thrown her, and the weird way it was delivered, she still considered it.

After a moment, she took a deep breath, and stepped toward him again. One step and she was right in front of him. Two steps, and she had wrapped her arms around his middle and pulled him closer to her.

"I would like it if we touched more," she whispered into his ear.

"You would?" He sounded out of breath.

"I would," she told him, honestly.

"That would be great," he replied, enthusiastically.

"Yeah," she agreed.

"And the part with the words?"

"Couldn't quit while you were ahead?" she laughed lightly, her face now buried in his shoulder.

"I always go too far. You know this," he told her. She could tell by the sound of his voice that he was smiling.

She thought for a moment before she spoke. She pulled back from him slightly and put her hands on either side of his face. She noticed he hadn't shaved. The thought that he had been too upset to even bother ... damn.

"The words will come. I … promise, okay? I am trying. I don't have all the words yet. But in the meantime, please know that the silent treatment isn't okay. You can't shut me out. Ever, Castle. I mean it. We're partners, we like each other, and maybe we can touch each other every once in a while …"

"That doesn't sound that often," he interrupted with a pouty face.

"And not at work," she informed him.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and before she knew it, she was face to face with him.

And before she knew it, he kissed her on the cheek. It was just a little peck—barely a peck, but he had snuck it in.

"I promise I'll be good," he smiled at her genuinely. He leaned in and got one more peck in there before she backed away from him laughing, and pushing at him jokingly.

"That's not a good start," she told him. Hiding her grin, she whipped around and walked back to the couch. "Now, let's get to work."

They spent the rest of the night going over and over the evidence they had collected, looking for anything new, anything they had missed. They bonded over their shared love of Fleetwood Mac (Kate's favorite being "Go Your Own Way" and Castle's being "Leather and Lace," which prompted Kate to mercilessly tease him for the rest of the night for being such a romantic sap.)

They finished off the pizza and the beer, played a half game of chess, paced the small space of her apartment trying random word associations. They did a search on the Internet for any kind of murder case involving a motorcycle. They played rock-paper-scissors until Kate lost so many times, she started to get mad, and they talked about their dream vacations (Castle: the North Pole, Beckett: Africa).

They did everything they could think of, but they still ended up right where they had started. The "list" they had made for Gates had only one thing written on it—_Find the stranger_. Kate was beyond frustrated. How could she walk into Gates' office tomorrow with this? Either she was a terrible detective or this case was impossible.

Finally, around 1am, they decided to call it a night. Neither was happy with their inability to find any new insight, but they had always figured it out in the past, so they held onto that, hoping sleep would help shed new light.

They walked to the door together, both yawning, stressed about the case, of course, but also relieved that they were back on track personally.

"Castle?" she said, opening the door for him.

"Yeah?" he said, shrugging on his jacket.

"Thanks."

"Nothing to thank me for. We are still at square one, maybe even square zero. Note—good idea for a band name."

"Not that," she said, smiling at his joke. "Thanks for … you know …"

"Having a spectacular meltdown and embarrassing myself beyond measure?"

She laughed.

"No," she said, seriously, putting her hands on his chest. "For helping me … move forward."

He briefly touched the side of her face and leaned in to kiss her cheek again. "Always, Beckett. I can do baby steps, no problem."

They both smiled and he took a step out the door. He had barely made it down the hall when he felt her come up behind him. She pulled him into a fierce hug that they melted into and lingered in for a few moments. Finally, they released each other and she retreated back toward her door.

"See you tomorrow?" she asked.

"See you tomorrow," he agreed, smiling that crooked smile that she loved so much.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

At 9am the next morning, the entire precinct was gathered in front of the TV in the bullpen watching the news conference. First, the police commissioner spoke about the tragedy, apologized to the family, and ensured the public that policies would be put into effect to make sure this kind of thing never happened again.

He then handed things over to Gates, who impressed the entire precinct with her directness and grace under pressure. She spoke of putting her "best people" on the case and ensured the public, as well as the family, they were doing everything humanly possible to conduct a proper and diligent investigation. She finished by promising to keep all parties involved apprised of the process.

When it was over, there were a few claps for Gates and a lot of sighs, but as the other officers got back to their duties, the team huddled around Kate's desk, looking weary and haggard.

Suddenly, Ryan's phone rang and as he listened, his face actually began to look … hopeful.

After he thanked the caller and hung up, he told them the news. "The CSI guys found something in the wreckage."

"What?" they all practically yelled.

"Something about a bolt being loose on the brakes, something about a caliper. Not sure exactly. They're faxing the report over now."

Kate grabbed the fax from the machine and returned to the desk.

"Okay, here's the deal. There's a bolt on the front brake that prevents brake fluid from leaking."

"Yeah, I know what you're talking about," Esposito urged her on.

"So, normally this bolt would be tightened, and the bolt was loose on Mr. Martin's bike. A loose bolt lets brake fluid leak out. They said it's possible that the bolt was loosened enough to let brake fluid come out slowly, enough to cause a slow leak." Beckett paraphrased.

"Is this bolt easy to loosen?" Castle asked. "The stranger was kneeling at the front of the bike and it didn't seem like he was there that long."

"Dude, that bolt is right out in the open, right on the front wheel of the bike. With one quick turn of the wrench—bam! It would take him only about five seconds."

"But wouldn't Mr. Martin have noticed this right when he started riding?" Ryan asked, clueless about the whole topic.

"Not necessarily," Esposito explained. "That guy could have started a slow leak that would have drained the fluid slowly, not enough to leave a puddle, but enough that by the time Mr. Martin rode a few miles, his brake handle would start feeling spongy."

"Spongy?" Castle asked, confused.

"Think of it like a car. If you lose fluid or the brakes malfunction, when you put your foot on the brake pedal, it's not going to respond properly. It could feel spongy. It could even sink all the way to the floor."

"So, what this report suggests is that if someone loosened that bolt, Mr. Martin's brakes might have been compromised to the point of not working at all," Beckett surmised.

"Isn't there some warning light or something that would have alerted him about the low fluid?" Castle asked.

"Well, for one thing, it was dark," Esposito summarized. "There is a brake fluid indicator right on the front of the bike, but it's not something that you normally take a look at every time you start your bike. You wouldn't really check it out except for every once in a while or if there was a problem."

"There's something else," Kate said softly.

They all looked at her in anticipation.

"They're saying there was a collision."

"What do you mean?" Castle inquired.

"They are saying Mr. Martin hit—something. That's why the bike was totaled and also why …" she didn't want to say it.

"Why Katie was thrown so far from the scene …" Castle whispered.

They all paused for a moment and looked at him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean … I meant to say Mrs. Martin …" he finished, looking down.

After one more moment of silence, Esposito spoke again.

"We haven't heard anything about a collision."

"No, we haven't," Kate agreed. "Ryan and Esposito, I need you to go down and talk to these CSI guys. I need a list of all the possible things that motorcycle might have hit. I need scenarios. If it was a car, then we need to look at cars that might have damage, so recent insurance claims, local body shops, the works. I want pictures, any kind of documentation you can get."

"Sure thing, Beckett," Esposito replied. "What are you guys going to do?"

"We're going to talk with Mr. Martin again. Maybe something will jog his memory." She grabbed her coat and keys and headed toward the elevator with Castle not far behind.

* * *

They found Mr. Martin to be looking a little more alert, but the sadness on his face was even more prominent. He was alone when they got to his room and was poking at orange jello in a small, plastic bowl. He nodded when they came in, but resumed his downward look.

"Feeling any better, Mr. Martin?" Kate started out with, immediately regretting it. She meant physically, but there was no way in hell he felt any better about the fact that his wife had just died a horrible death.

He shrugged. "You find out anything new?"

"Actually, yes, and we have a few more questions for you. Are you up to it?"

"Sure," he mumbled.

"First of all, do you remember anything else from that night since we spoke?" Kate asked him.

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "No. I don't think so."

"Mr. Martin, our investigators found something out of the ordinary about your bike."

"What?" he replied, immediately perking up.

"Apparently there was a bolt loose on the brake caliper."

"The front brake caliper?"

"Yes," she told him.

"Jesus," he sighed. He rubbed his hand in his hair and then gripped it, like he was going to rip it out.

"What is it, Mr. Martin?"

"Shit. I had noticed that the threads were starting to show signs of wear. I had planned on replacing the bolt once I got back to the shop."

"Was it so stripped that it could have loosened on its own?" Castle followed up.

"It's hard to say. I guess it could have come loose on its own and some fluid could have leaked out …"

"But it's also possible that someone could have tampered with it, say the guy you saw squatting by your bike?" Kate prompted him.

"Damn, I remember something! I remember the brake handle feeling like it had more give. It was spongy. I remember the feel of it in my hand. I keep my brakes nice and tight. I remember wondering what was wrong."

"Do you remember braking? To slow down? To avoid hitting something, maybe?" Kate asked.

He shook his head. "I just remember that feeling of the brake in my hand."

"Billy, the investigators also found signs of a collision," she told him.

"A collision? What did I hit?"

"We're looking into it now. You don't remember another car nearby, debris on the road? An animal? Anything?"

His head fell back against the pillow and tears started coming from his eyes again.

"I don't know. I remember leaving the bar and driving a few miles on the expressway and then waking up in the hospital."

"What about sounds? Any odd noises? Any thoughts in your head?" Castle asked him.

He shook his head again. "Nothing. I can't remember a fucking thing …" he said in frustration. "Sorry for the curse word, ma'am."

"Don't worry about it, it's fine," she assured him.

A nurse walked in then, gave them a look letting them know it was time to leave, and then emptied a syringe into his IV. Almost immediately, his eyes began to droop.

"Please call me if you remember anything else, Billy," she said, laying her card on his bedside table. "We'll keep you posted."

Then she and Castle got up and left the room.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

It had been two weeks since their last visit to Mr. Martin's hospital room and Castle and the boys were convening by the board first thing in the morning, just as they had been nearly every day since this whole horrible thing had started. They were silent, all trying to pretend they couldn't hear Beckett getting chewed out by Gates for the third time in as many days.

Finally, Kate emerged and headed straight to her desk. The boys headed over to join her.

"I assume that means we still don't have any new leads," Esposito said gently.

Kate had her elbows on the desk and her head in her hands. She was looking down at the piece of furniture like it might offer an answer.

"Still nothing," she told them. "They can't find any evidence on the bike of the object Mr. Martin hit. No wood, no paint scrapes, no animal evidence, nothing. There are scrapes from the pavement and pieces of asphalt imbedded in the front fender, but unless he pulled an instant nosedive into the pavement, hitting the ground didn't cause the bike to come apart like that."

"What about trip wire? I saw that on a TV show one time. They held a piece of wire across the road and caught a cyclist in the chest. It brought him down pretty hard," Castle mused.

"That's ridiculous, Castle. You're really saying someone extended trip wire across three lanes of a major highway just in time to knock Mr. Martin off his bike?" She huffed again at the unlikeness of it, but never looked up.

"It was just … something out of the box. I know it's pretty unlikely."

"Unlikely and unhelpful," she added.

The guys looked at Castle in sympathy. He tried to keep his cool by rolling his eyes, but her remarks had hurt his feelings.

"What did Gates say?" Ryan asked.

"The same thing. How her 'best people' haven't found anything new since the accident, how the commissioner is chewing her out every day. How the mayor is chewing _him_ out every day. How Mrs. Matthews has hired Bernie Spencer for the civil suit and how the city is going to lose millions."

"Even if we solved this case, that wouldn't change how much Mrs. Matthews is suing for," Castle interrupted.

"Yeah, I know, Castle," she said sarcastically. "But we promised them a smoking gun and all we've given them is a mountain of evidence that points to nothing."

"Maybe it was an accident," Ryan offered.

She sighed, finally looking up and crossing her fingers behind her head, now staring out into the bullpen.

"Maybe it was. But we never found the guy by Mr. Martin's bike and we never determined if the brakes were tampered with or just malfunctioned, and we never found out what caused the crash. We can't close this on being 95 percent sure it was an accident. We need to be 100 percent sure," she informed them.

"How can we be 100 percent sure?" Castle asked. "We can't solve every case. Like Gates said, 59 percent of murder cases are never solved."

"And that's good enough for you?" Beckett asked him, her voice getting more and more edgy.

"No, of course not, but what other option do we have? We've had six new cases come in that we need to start working on. Maybe there is no solution to this—maybe it will never be solved. Maybe it's impossible," he reasoned.

Beckett stood up suddenly and stalked away. "Break room, Castle. Now."

The boys gave him looks of compassion and Ryan offered a pat on the back. Castle took a deep breath and followed her into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Why are you trying to undermine this investigation, Castle? Are you trying to make the team feel worse than they already do?"

"Hey—I'm on the team, too," he retaliated.

"Yeah, so where are your crazy theories? Your outsider perspective? Your out-of-the-box ideas? That's why you're on this team, isn't it?"

"I've tried just as hard as you, Beckett. Maybe this case is unsolvable."

"It can't be unsolvable!" she told him, her voice rising.

"Maybe we're just driving ourselves crazy for nothing. Maybe it was an accident."

"No, there are still too many loose ends."

"What loose ends? There is no motive for murder. No real evidence whatsoever that this was a murder in the first place!"

"But that guy …" she started.

"That guy could have dropped his keys, or stopped to admire Billy's bike, or suddenly found Jesus. There are a thousand reasons why that guy could have been kneeling beside Billy's bike at that particular moment. Travis even admitted that the dude wasn't acting all that strange."

"Well, thanks for telling me this now … two weeks later. Did you always think it was an accident?"

"I was never sure. I wanted to push it as hard as we could. If it had been murder, I would have wanted to say that we had done everything possible to find out what really happened, even if it gave Billy just a little bit of peace."

"We screwed this up. Gates needed us and we screwed it up."

"Kate, the only reason we were picked for this insane case in the first place was because of how good we are. You heard Gates. Our solve rate is through the roof compared to the average. But we can't solve them all."

"I can," she defended. "I just need more time. We should go over the evidence again."

"No way," he countered. "It's over. We have to move on. We need to do our job and find out who's responsible for these other murders that are starting to pile up on our desk."

"_We_ need to do our job? _We_ need to move on? Since when are you a cop, Castle?" she accused.

"You know damn well that I contribute to this team, that I am a part of that high solve rate. We've been doing this for years and you are just now starting to question my place on your team?"

"Well, it doesn't feel like much of a team when I am the only one getting my ass chewed out by Gates, with her threatening to bump me down to traffic duty if I don't come up with something—anything—conclusive!"

"Not all cases can be solved. You of all people should know that …" he stopped himself.

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Of course I _know_ that, Castle. I've spent the last fifteen years of my life trying to solve my mom's unsolvable case. But I never give up, do I?" she baited him.

He wanted this conversation over. It was going to darker and darker places, and he knew how it would end—she would blame him, probably start chasing her mom's killer again, put her life in danger, and pull away from him. This was moving them backward, not forward. And he didn't feel like taking the blame when he had done everything in his power to help her find out the truth.

"You always do this, you know?" He cursed himself immediately for letting that slip out. This certainly wasn't going to help.

"Do what?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest in a protective stance.

"Whenever we hit an obstacle, whatever it is, you always blame me," he told her. "Fine, maybe my out-of-the-box ideas didn't come through this time, but as you are so quick to point out, _you're_ the 'real' detective, Kate, so is this really my fault?"

It was like all the air was sucked out of the room. But while he knew it was true, he also knew he should have kept his mouth shut, because the last thing he needed to do right now was question her abilities.

He watched her get angrier and angrier. She actually gripped the side of the table to steady herself. He tried damage control.

"All I am saying is that we are a team, Beckett. We are _partners_. So you can turn this around and blame me. You can turn us against each other and erase any progress we've made on a personal level. That's one route you can take, and the one you usually do …"

They both flinched. He hadn't meant to say that.

"Or we can stick together, bury this thing, put it behind us, and move on. We can grab a beer and bitch about how unfair this is and drown our sorrows and show up tomorrow and get back to work."

He paused for a moment. She still hadn't moved or said anything.

"Your choice," he reinforced.

Beckett was staring at him now and her face was unreadable. He had no idea what was going to happen next. Would she punch him? Banish him from her life forever? Kick him off the team?

Or, was it possible, after all this time, that she could stay on his side and quit putting the wall between them? Every time she turned on him, they regressed and after the little progress they had made over these last few weeks, he didn't know if he could take her rejection again.

She startled him out of his thoughts when she turned away from him, opened the door, and walked out of the room.

"Wait!" he called after her.

By the time he had caught up with her, she was stacking up papers and closing down her computer. Castle watched in silence as she locked up her drawer and strapped her gun on. She put on her jacket, fluffing her hair outside the collar. Without so much as a look at him, she started walking toward the elevator.

He was too in shock to move or say anything; he just watched her go.

It wasn't until the elevator that he heard her call back to him.

"Come on before I change my mind."

He glanced at the guys, who both looked dumbfounded, shrugged his shoulders in innocence, flashed them a grin, and ran toward the elevator, jumping in just before the doors closed.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

When they reached the Old Haunt and were sitting side by side at the bar, it took three shots of tequila before Kate would even look at Castle again. She had just taken a sip of her beer when she finally spoke to him.

"Tell me this isn't the end of the world," she sighed.

"It's not. It's _so_ not the end of the world. What happened was terrible, but we've done all we can. Like I said, even if we proved it was murder or an accident, it wouldn't change anything."

"I almost wanted it to be murder, just so Billy wouldn't spend the rest of his life thinking he had killed his wife."

"I felt like that, too. But honestly, it must have been an accident. That bolt must have come loose and compromised his brakes and he must have hit something."

She took a long sip of beer and then set it down. "It's the collision part that haunts me the most. Maybe that guy was just some random biker who had nothing to do with this. But how do we explain the fact that the bike ended up in a million pieces? If Billy did need to slow down and his brakes weren't working, wouldn't he have just laid it down? How was there enough force generated to throw Mrs. Martin that far from the bike?"

"I don't know," he said, taking in a long pull of scotch. "You're right. It doesn't make sense. It's the biggest loose end we have. It's like the pavement jumped up in front of him and caused him to crash."

"Well, unless there was an earthquake that only happened right at that spot, I don't know how else to explain it," she told him.

"Did we talk to enough experts?" he asked.

"Between the boys and the CSU team, we've talked to motorcycle experts, collision specialists, everyone we could think of. When they went back to the scene and processed it, they extended the radius by 50 yards. No vehicles popped in our search, no raccoon was found on the road. There's just nothing.

"Tell me something, Castle ..."

"Sure," he replied.

"How would you write the end of this? If it was your book, how would things turn out?" she asked, seriously.

"Jesus, I probably would have never even started a story like this, specifically because it doesn't have a proper ending. It would have to be some crazy twist like some guys in a car cut Mr. Martin off and slammed on their brakes, making him crash into their car and causing the wreck. Or maybe Mrs. Martin wasn't thrown from the bike at all—maybe she had been murdered and placed out there so everyone would think that she had been on the bike at the time. Maybe they had both been drugged and killed and the whole scenario was fabricated to look like a wreck."

"Wow," Kate replied, smiling. "No wonder you sell so many books. You have quite an imagination."

"I sell so many books precisely because I don't have illogical and crazy twists like that in my stories. All of the cases in my stories are solved and make sense. I never like to leave the reader hanging."

He paused before speaking again. "If only they had found her that night. That's the part that bothers me the most. Even if we never figured out what really happened, at least she would still be alive."

"I know. I feel horrible about it. I can't imagine how the personnel on the scene must feel. How do you get over something like that?" Kate asked, the very thought making her feel sick to her stomach.

"You don't," Castle replied thoughtfully. "You move on and focus on the people you can save.

"Wow, Castle. That's pretty sage advice."

"I have my moments," he grinned, setting his empty glass down and signaling for Pete, the bartender to come over.

"I'll take a refill …" he told him.

"And for the lady?" Pete asked politely.

"Oh, she ain't no lady," Castle teased.

"Shut up!" she said, playfully punching him in the arm before turning back to Pete. "I'm fine for right now. Thanks though."

Pete nodded and then turned to Castle again.

"Mr. Castle?"

"What's up, Pete?" he asked, taking a sip out of his freshly refilled glass.

"Lara's in the office with the samples from the new designer you hired …" he began to explain.

"You're redesigning the place? I thought you loved it," Beckett interrupted.

"I do. Just a few cosmetic changes to the bar area and some minor additions to the office."

"Minor additions?" she asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Okay, fine," he laughed. "A state-of-the-art, remote-controlled audio and visual entertainment center with surround sound."

She laughed back at him. "Such a minimalist, Castle."

"Ha ha," he replied. "I just want to be able to watch _True Blood_ when I go over the books."

"You don't go over the books," she teased.

"Fine, when Lara goes over the books. I just want to sit in my leather theater seats and watch TV in my own bar."

"Seats? As in more than one?"

"Well, I might have friends over," he explained.

"How many?"

"Four," he said softly, and they both laughed.

"So, Mr. Castle …" Pete tried again.

"Oh sorry, Pete. Lara wants to check in with me?"

"If you could spare a minute."

"Okay, but keep an eye on her. She's a drinker, this one," he said, winking to Beckett before he left for the office.

Pete gave her a smile and then went to see to another customer.

Kate took another sip of her beer and rolled her shoulders in an attempt to relax. She was glad she had gotten over herself at the precinct and had not made things worse for once. Maybe if she just kept trying like this, they really could make some progress. And he was good company—and a good partner.

Smiling to herself, she took a casual look around the bar. It wasn't that busy—it wasn't that kind of place anyway. Castle had told her most of his customers were writers, academics, and other professionals looking to unwind at the end of their day, have a talk with a colleague, and celebrate promotions and birthdays.

She noticed a few men reading or furiously typing away at their laptops while they sipped their scotches. There were a few coworkers having a get-together in the back of the bar and from the looks of it, they had started pretty early.

Beckett was about to get up and go to the restroom when two women sat down at the bar a few seats away from her. They were deep in conversation and something caught her ear, so she stopped to listen.

"I just don't know what to do with this patient," the blond one said to her friend.

"Which patient, Claire? You say that about all of them," the red head told her, signaling to Pete so they could order drinks.

"The one whose mother died when she was fifteen. She's thirty-five now and all of her friends are getting married and having babies and she hasn't been able to hold down a real relationship in her entire life," Claire replied. "What do you want to drink, Margo?"

Margo turned to Pete and asked for a margarita. Claire nodded that she would have the same.

"Did you tell her the problem is her mother's death?"

"No, of course not. I mean, we talk about it pretty regularly. It still traumatizes her of course—seeing your mom murdered by an ex-boyfriend right in front of you can do that to a person."

"When did she start coming to see you?"

"Very recently. She went through grief counseling after her mother's death and told me she had felt fine for years … until now."

"Because all of her friends are getting married? Isn't that normal jealousy for a thirty-something woman in this city? It's impossible to find a decent man in Manhattan," Margo replied, handing Pete her credit card to start a tab when he brought over the drinks.

"The thing is—she's found decent men. She's dated some guys in the past before she ended up sabotaging the relationships, and she's currently being pursued by the brother of one of her friends."

"Is he a good guy?"

"To hear her talk about him, yeah, he seems amazing … even dreamy. The problem is she wants to let him in, but is afraid she can't."

"Because she lost her mom twenty years ago? Really, Claire? Do you really think that's the problem?"

"Oh Margo. I highly doubt your background in corporate law qualifies you to pass judgment on adult relationships and grief."

"Which is exactly why I hate hearing about these patients of yours," Margo pointed out.

"Who else am I going to talk to? You're my best friend," Claire told her.

"And you're damn lucky for that," she laughed, raising her glass for a toast.

After they took a sip, Margo paused and then said, "You know, when I was in college, I knew this girl who had lost her mom when she was young …"

"And?"

"Well, honestly, she was pretty fucked up. She was gorgeous and had guys just throwing themselves at her feet, but she treated them like shit. By senior year, everyone called her "The Heartbreaker." She dated one of my close guy friends one time and led him on forever and then dumped him after dating him for only a couple of weeks."

"That sounds pretty typical actually," Claire informed her. "People who deal with the loss of a parent at a young age tend to be uncomfortable with getting close to other people, especially romantically. They tend not to trust people or really depend on them at all. In their minds, loving someone is associated with loss and they don't want to go through it again."

"Well that's depressing," Margo sighed.

"Whatever happened to that girl?"

"Not sure, really. I heard she went on to research some sort of bug that only lives in Peru or some shit. I don't think anyone has seen her in years."

"That doesn't surprise me, actually. She probably likes to be alone, so she found work where she has to be in the middle of nowhere. Some survivors do that. Some take jobs with high risks. Some choose to work in professions normally dominated by the opposite sex so they aren't forced to form connections."

"That doesn't make sense. Wouldn't having so many members of the opposite sex around increase the chance of romantic possibilities?" Margo asked, puzzled.

"It's the opposite of what you would think. If a woman works in a man's world, it's isolating in a way, almost like hiding in plain sight. Men start to see her as one of the guys and the sexual tension goes away."

"Weird," Margo said.

"I know."

"So what about this patient of yours? What advice are you going to give her?"

"That's not exactly my job, you know. We aren't supposed to just give them advice," Claire reminded her.

"You know what I mean," Margo replied, rolling her eyes.

"I don't know," Claire sighed. "I believe she wants to get close to someone, but that she sees herself as damaged somehow. She is a highly intelligent woman who runs her own successful business. She's won awards; she's asked to speak at conferences and has a column in a women's magazine. But to hear her talk about herself, you'd think she was one step up from the gutter."

"So the whole low self-esteem thing, then?"

"Yes, in a way. But it's not just how they see themselves; it's how they see their partners or potential partners as well. My client doesn't trust her own emotions—she feels that she should be able to control her emotions with her mind, with discipline, with sacrifice. She doesn't want to even be in contact with her emotions. For her, it's easier that way.

"Because of this, my client is probably incapable of trusting this man, trusting that he can manage and be responsible for his own emotions. If she can't, then how can he? And the last thing she needs is someone else's emotions in her life when she can barely deal with her own.

"So now she's doubting his intentions. She thinks he might want something from her, or that he wants to change her or thinks she is someone she is not.

"People like this client, their fear of intimacy ends up getting them involved with people who are wrong for them. They will stay with someone they don't love for their whole lives instead of taking the risk of being close to someone whom they could actually love."

"Again, depressing," Margo replied, licking the salt off the side of her glass. "So, before we move on to better and brighter things, tell me what you are going to do. I know you—you won't stop thinking about this unless you get it off your chest."

"You're right," Claire admitted and then paused thoughtfully. "I can only guide her. I will never convince her that she is worthy of this man's love. I can't promise she won't end up getting hurt. I can't promise she will ever be able to fully open herself up to real intimacy … I guess all I can do is listen and help her find her own answers."

"That's exactly why you shrinks make me crazy. I'll pay one of you $200 and get an answer like that!" Margo laughed.

"She has the answers and she's the one who has to see them and decide to take the risks. All I can do is show her that she can have love—if she wants it …"

"Jesus, Claire. I prefer to negotiate hostile corporate takeovers over what you do any day. How do you ever feel any satisfaction?"

"Sometimes, people figure it out. And if they don't, at least they have someone to talk to, I guess," Claire replied.

"How about another drink?" Margo asked.

"For god's sake—yes!" she laughed. "Now, how are things going with you and Todd?"

A loud burst of laughter from the party in the back knocked Kate out of her reverie and she found herself breathless, sweaty, and gripping the bar on front of her with white knuckles. One of the women—Claire—actually looked at her then, and smiled, though she looked a little concerned for Kate as well.

In a moment of panic, wanting to run as far away from this place as possible, Kate pushed herself off the chair and backed up—

Into Castle. He held her elbows gently and turned her toward the back office.

"Kate, it's okay," he told her.

"How much did you hear?" she gasped, starting to hyperventilate.

"Enough," he said under his breath. "Let's just go into the office. You're okay, Kate. Just walk toward the office."

With every step, Kate felt the energy leaving her, her weakened legs barely keeping her upright. Before she knew it, she was in his office, and they were alone. He sat her down gently in a comfortable leather chair and pulled another chair over so he could sit in front of her.

"You're shaking," he said, apprehension in his voice. He reached for her hands, but she backed away protectively.

He shook his head and tried to explain. "Claire is a psychiatrist. That's her best friend, Margo. They talk shop all of the time. I'm so sorry, Kate."

Kate had her eyes closed and her arms wrapped around her. She was sitting right in front of him, but she might as well be in a different world. Castle wanted to kill those women—he had only heard so much, but he had gotten the gist of it.

"It's okay, Kate. They weren't talking about you," he tried.

"Yes they were," she whispered.

"No, they were talking about someone else, Kate. Not you. They don't know you, who you are."

"Everything they said was true," she said, trying not to cry. "I'm so fucked up. I'm never going to be okay. I'm never going to get married. Who would want this?"

"I do," he told her. "I want you."

"Stop, I can't. I can't hear that from you right now," she insisted, starting to rock back and forth in the chair. She had pulled her knees up to her chest now, putting as much of her body between them as she could. The significance was not lost on him.

"You're not fucked up. You're doing great, things are going great," he tried.

"No, they're not, Castle," she argued. "I'm never going to be ready. I can't do it."

"Yes, you can. There's nothing you can't do. I've never seen a stronger, more resilient person than you—"

"Stop it! You just say that stuff all the time. You don't really know," she said.

"Yes, I do. I know. I see you—"

"No, you don't, Castle!" she interrupted again. "You see this one part of me, the only part of me I can show—the cop, the partner …"

"I have seen other parts of you," he reasoned.

"No you haven't! You didn't see me after my mom died. You didn't see me at my dad's cabin after the shooting. You've never seen me after I wake up from some terrible nightmare. I only show you what I want you to see."

"Kate, if we're going to get past these walls, you are going to have to trust me—trust that I want to see you and trust that I can handle it. I like the cop and the partner, but what I want is you—the real you."

"All of it is the real me. I just don't want you to see me like …" she trailed off.

"Like what?"

"Like this! Upset, broken, feeling weak and vulnerable. You aren't supposed to see this!"

"Why? Why can't I see this? Did you really think all I wanted was the cop, the partner? All this time, all I ever wanted was to see more of you. I want to be there when you wake up from a nightmare. I want to see you first thing in the morning. I want to go grocery shopping with you and take care of you when you're sick. I love what you have shown me, Kate, but I have always wanted more."

"I'm so scared …"

"Scared of what?" he asked, gently.

"That you'll see me and not like it. That you'll leave me. That you'll hurt me. That I will let you in and then you'll realize there was nothing worth waiting for …" she admitted, dropping her head down and starting to cry.

Castle was in anguish. He didn't know what to do—reason with her? She'd just argue. Hold her? She'd probably just push him away. But if he didn't do anything, she was going to disappear into herself so far, he might never reach her again.

"Tell me what to do. Talk to me. Please!" he begged.

She just shook her head. But when a huge sob wracked her body, he couldn't hold himself back anymore. He couldn't just sit there and watch. In a flash, he scooped her up and carried her over to the couch and sat down with her, keeping her held tight in his arms. She fought him for the briefest second and then relented and let herself be held.

"It's okay to cry. Just let it out. Please, Kate. It's okay," he whispered to her.

"It feels so good to be near you," she said in a shaky voice.

He hugged her tighter.

"Aren't you tired of this by now?" she asked.

"No, Kate. Never gonna happen. I'm serious. You're not getting rid of me."

"I'm never going to be enough for you," she said so softly, he barely heard her.

"Not true. Walls are coming down right now," he told her emphatically.

She was quiet for a while, so he just held her and let her be.

"Am I going to be okay tonight?" she asked him later, sounding tired now.

He read her underlying question perfectly. "You can sleep for now. As long as you want. I will make sure you get home, to your bed, and then I will see you in the morning at work."

"Days off. Three of them. I think Gates is sick of seeing my face," she yawned.

"We'll spend them together," he said, cautiously.

"Okay, Castle," she whispered, burrowing into him further.

"Sleep, Kate," he said to her. "You can trust me."

He shifted a little to make himself more comfortable and pulled her closer to his body. As upset as he was for her, he couldn't help but smile inside. It felt so good to be near her.

As she drifted off, she kept hearing a song in her head, that Fleetwood Mac song he liked so much. It was so cheesy, so _him_. She wished it were playing it right now.


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer - I don't want to give anything away before you read it because it's a suprise, but just FYI, pretty much all of the details about the city are fictional._

**CHAPTER 9**

The first thing she did when she woke up the next morning was reach for him. When she didn't find him, she opened her eyes and looked around.

He wasn't there. Hadn't been there. She was tastefully clothed, well rested, and felt entirely rejuvenated.

She sat up in the bed. She felt great, but a part of her wished he hadn't been so true to his word. She would not have minded waking up next to him. Especially this morning. But he was doing the right thing, even though she sometimes wanted him to do the wrong thing.

She looked to her bedside table and saw a note.

_I'll be there at nine, with coffee. Be ready to have some fun._

She smiled when she read it, but felt a flash of fear as well. She was going to spend some time with him, outside of the office.

Be excited, she told herself, not scared. After last night, she was a little afraid to show her face, but she figured she couldn't afford the luxury of pride right now. In the past few weeks, they had moved baby steps, and she had liked it. She liked being close to him. It was time for more steps.

It was 8:30am, so she quickly jumped in the shower and got dressed. Right at 9am, she heard a knock on the door.

"Hi Castle," she said sheepishly when she opened the door.

He paused in the doorway to look at her.

"You got some sleep," he noted.

"Yeah, I did. I only woke up 30 minutes ago," she told him.

"Good," he said, grinning and walking into her flat. "You're going to need your energy today."

She shut the door behind him and followed him into the kitchen where he was laying out a spread of coffee, pastries, breakfast sandwiches, and fruit.

"Is someone joining us?" she teased, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Ha ha. No, I just wanted to make sure I covered all of my bases. I wanted you to have whatever you were in the mood for this morning," he told her.

She blushed at his thoughtfulness and grabbed a greasy bacon and egg sandwich on a biscuit and held it up for him to see. "You read my mind."

He sat down on one of the stools and took a bite of a donut.

"You feeling better?" he asked, lightly.

She came and sat down next to him, on the other stool.

"Yes," she told him. "I barely even remember coming home really, so thanks."

"I told you that you could trust me," he reminded her.

"And you came through," she said, raising her coffee for a toast.

"I let you sleep for a while and then I took you home in my car. You were awake for a bit when I brought you in here, but still pretty out of it. And I swear I didn't peek when you undressed."

She laughed at that.

He was silent for a moment before he spoke again.

"Speaking of trust …" he started.

"What crazy plan do you have for us today?" she sighed dramatically, unable to stop smiling.

"Um … not just for today …" he hedged.

"Tonight, too?" she asked, trying to beat down the flashes of panic.

He looked at her then with one of his best disarming and endearing smiles.

"What do you think about getting out of town for a few days?" he said quickly, trying to get it all out at once and bracing himself for a negative reaction.

"Where to?" she said calmly. She could handle this. She could.

"Can it be a surprise?" he asked her.

A million thoughts were swirling in her head, but she made herself take a deep breath and consider it. This wasn't unprecedented. They had gone to LA before; she had managed. Sure, things were a bit different now, but they were better, so that was good. Right?

"Separate rooms of course," he added quickly.

"Oh, that's too bad," she answered with mock sadness.

"Be still my beating heart," he laughed. "That can be changed."

"Let's keep it like that for now," she said, reeling him back in. She could tell his imagination had kicked into overdrive at just the thought of them sharing a room.

He put his hands up in surrender. "So, you'll go?"

"Can you tell me anything?" she asked, feeling like maybe a little information would take away the queasy feeling that was starting to come on.

"Let's see," he began in seriousness. "We will be getting on a plane. You'll need to pack for warm weather and that includes a bathing suit …"

"Here we go …" she teased him.

"No, no, that's only one small part of it," he rushed to reassure her. "You'll need a nice dress, walking shoes, and child-like enthusiasm."

Kate was quiet for a second while she looked at him. He was so excited. She wagered he had spent all night planning this down to the last detail.

"Give me one good reason why you shouldn't go," he challenged.

She couldn't think of one. He wanted her to trust him—she wanted to trust him. Taking a step like this—a big step—was exactly what she should do. Besides, what would she do otherwise? Sit around her house and mope for the next three days?

She got up and went to the other side of the island, watching his expression turn from hopeful to resigned. God, he was so easy.

"Okay."

"Okay? Did you say okay?" Castle practically screamed. In his delight, he jumped up and ran around the island and gave her a great big hug.

"Permission to kiss you, Detective Beckett?" he said, eagerly.

"Ummm … I—" she stumbled.

And before she knew it, his lips were on hers, and it was way more than a peck. The smiles left their faces for a minute. They were both surprised at the kiss—both had expected it to be light, but it didn't feel light. It felt serious and for a few moments, they were both swept away by it. She couldn't believe how good it felt—or how much she was _not_ freaking out.

His lips moved to her neck then and he gave her one last kiss behind her ear, which felt divine. She was thinking about taking things a little further when he stepped away.

"Go pack," he told her. "We have a plane to catch!"

* * *

Nearly eight hours later, Kate was practically in shock as she sat in a classroom at SeaWorld learning about dolphin anatomy and training techniques. They were the only ones there and before she knew it, they were in the water, in their wetsuits, with friendly and adorable dolphins swimming around them.

After a mad rush to the airport, a trip on a private jet to San Diego, and a ride in a convertible to SeaWorld, Kate felt so far away from New York and all of the crap they had left behind. She felt herself finally starting to relax.

She watched Castle as he worked with a trainer, who was instructing him on how to walk with the dolphin. Every once in a while, he would glance at her, beaming. She was almost giddy with the craziness of this surprise.

"Aren't there usually more people who want to do this?" Kate asked her trainer, who was trying to coax one of the shyer dolphins over to them.

"Yeah," Anne, her instructor, told her. "He bought out the whole session."

Kate tried not to add everything up in her head—the private plane, buying out an entire dolphin session at SeaWorld, not to mention what else he had planned for the next two days. She took a deep breath and reminded herself to stay in the moment.

Finally, Flipper (she couldn't believe they had a dolphin named Flipper) got over his shyness and started bumping Kate's hand in order to be petted. Anne showed her some hand signals and gave her some fresh fish to feed Flipper. Kate was over the moon.

When Castle sped past her, holding onto his dolphin's dorsal fin, she laughed out loud in pure joy. She hadn't felt like this since … well, since her mother had died. She felt so light, so happy. What she was feeling for Castle right now … she couldn't even process it.

While she was watching Castle, Flipper had insinuated himself into her arms and she had no choice but to hug him.

"He likes you!" Anne laughed.

"This is so amazing," Kate told her, nearly giggling.

"Yeah, I have the best job," Anne replied.

Which is exactly what the giraffe expert at the San Diego Zoo told Kate a few hours later when they were feeding carrots to the unbelievably beautiful animals. Kate was captivated with the giraffes—she loved feeling their dry, warm lips nip at her fingertips as she fed them. She loved how graceful they were, how unbelievably real they were. This had been the last stop after seeing the lions, zebras, flamingos, antelopes, hyenas, and even a gorilla.

"We'll do Africa for real next time," he said offhandedly as they fed the giraffes.

Kate was so happy, she was almost in shock. Every experience was like a dream. Their hotel, Cortez, was something out of a movie. Combining historic Spanish architecture with a modern flair, the feel was airy and relaxed and the view of the ocean was staggering. The incoming tide licked the foundation of the hotel and the sea breeze was enough to carry away any concerns or worries.

They started the evening with sampling of Napa Valley wines at the Balboa Wine Bar, followed by delicious surf and turf at the hotel's fine dining establishment, the Azul del Mar. A stroll around the property followed by an obscenely wonderful glass of scotch in one of the hotel's courtyards. It wasn't until they were walking on the beach that she started to come back down to earth.

"Did you like your dinner? You didn't say much," he said as they strolled down the perfect white sand beach.

"I loved it. I've loved everything. I'm think I'm just a little …" she trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"Happy?" he tried, bumping his hip against hers playfully.

"Castle, this has been one of the best days of my life. I'm a little overwhelmed. I didn't know I could be so …"

"Happy?" he said again, laughing.

"Well, yeah," she said honestly, reaching for his hand.

"I'm so glad you came," he replied, squeezing her hand in his.

"Me too. Have you done this before?"

"I took Alexis to the SeaWorld in Orlando when she was twelve and we did the dolphin thing. She loved it."

"And the giraffes … and the lions! Seriously, Castle, I can't believe you went to all this trouble," she said, humbled.

"No trouble at all … and don't say a word about how much it costs. You wouldn't believe the advance I got for _Frozen Heat_. It's obnoxious," he told her.

"I don't care how much it costs," she confessed.

He stopped walking then and grabbed her arms so she stood in front of him.

"Who is this person in front of me? Certainly it's not Kate Beckett, who only allows me to spend $3.59 on her per day, and only on coffee," he said, dramatically.

"Shut up. The bear claw must be at least two bucks," she scolded him, playfully punching him in the arm before resuming their walk down the beach. He found her hand again and she smiled.

"I just can't believe this is happening," she said softly.

"You can't imagine how happy you have made me," he admitted. "All these years, all I have wanted is a chance to get you out of New York. I love that city—it's my home, after all. But there is so much more out in the world. Sometimes, I thought I would never get the chance to show you, get the chance to have you all to myself …" he broke off.

This time she stopped and turned toward him.

"I wish we hadn't waited so long," she said, touching the side of his face.

He looked down and when he raised his eyes again, there were tears in them.

"Kate, I …" he started, brushing his thumb over her lips. She gulped, knowing he was about to say something he never had before.

Suddenly, a wave crashed against the shore then, drowning them up to their knees. They had no choice but to laugh and run away from the water.

"Let's go back to the hotel, Castle," she said.

"You read my mind," he replied, smiling mischievously at her.

* * *

They barely made it inside the room before they were all over each other. She quickly backed him up against the door and pressed her entire body against his, insinuating her thigh between his and running both hands through his hair. She smiled as she ran her tongue along the ridge of his ear.

Suddenly, he flipped their positions, so now her back was pressed against the door. He ran his hands up the side of her body as she gripped his hair, not letting him go, not letting any space between them. His hands moved over her breasts roughly, repeatedly, until she could scarcely breathe.

"Touch me, Castle. Please …" she said, raggedly.

"God, I want to," he whispered, finding her hips with both hands and crushing into her again.

She could feel the tears building up in her eyes, feel the emotion, the love, rising up inside her. After all this time, after all of the doubts, she was so sure. She loved this man, with all her heart. She would never be able to deny it again. It was out—he had brought it out. She wished she could tell him, but she would never find the words. How do you tell someone he has saved your life?

"I'm sorry I took so long," she breathed into his neck. "I didn't know …"

"I've wanted you for so long," he answered, his voice breaking. "God, Kate, there's so much I want to tell you, so much …"

She pulled back from him then, keeping his face framed with her hands.

"I've hurt you," she said, brushing his tears away with her thumbs and kissing him softly on the lips again.

"It's okay. It's okay now," he told her, meaning it.

"All that time I wasted, all the pain I caused you. I'm so sorry," she said.

"I waited," he told her.

"You waited. You really waited," she said, still overwhelmed.

He pulled her into his arms then, both just needing to feel each other, both needing to know that this was real. She wanted him to know that she would never forget this moment, that they would never lose the ground they had gained today.

Lacking the words, and overcome with need and desire, she started kissing him again and her hands went to his tie and loosened it, before her fingers started to unbutton his shirt.

"Wait," he told her, stilling her actions.

"What?" she asked, pulling away from him.

"I want this so much," he told her, looking deeply into her eyes.

"Me, too," she smiled, moving to kiss him again.

"But …" he continued.

"What, Castle?" she asked, starting to get worried. She took a step back from him. He quickly reached out for her and pulled her back to him, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"I don't know about you, but I'm kind of drunk," he said, almost sadly. "I want to remember every moment when we do this and I'm afraid things will get messy."

"Messy can be good," she countered, even though she was kind of agreeing with him. She was really tired, too. She did want their first time to be everything it should be.

"But I can't stand the thought of being apart from you, so I was thinking—"

"Sleepover?" she finished for him.

"You read my mind. My room or yours?" he asked, kissing her again.

"Yours," she replied. "You have the king-sized bed."

They made their way to his room and barely made it under the covers before they both passed out, drunk and happy, with huge smiles on their faces.

* * *

_Stay tuned for the conclusion ..._


	10. Chapter 10

_This is the last chapter and thanks for sticking with it. For those of you who have been waiting for reason for the "M" rating, you won't be disappointed._

_If you have any comments, I would love to hear them. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

**CHAPTER 10**

"So, are you ready for today?" he asked, giddily.

They were enjoying breakfast in bed, freshly showered and adorned in the hotel's luxurious robes.

"Do I have a choice?" she teased, taking a bite of a huge, bright red strawberry.

"You always have a choice, Detective, but considering you enjoyed yesterday so much, I thought you might trust me with today's itinerary as well," he answered, gobbling down some scrambled eggs.

"God, these are good," he said with his mouth full, not giving her a chance to answer.

"I know. Did you try the waffles? They must have some secret, magical ingredient in them. I have never tasted waffles this good," she agreed.

"I heard the food was good here, but damn!"

"Mmm … and the coffee, too," she murmured, taking another sip.

"So, do you want to hear about your day?" he tried again, finally polishing off the scrambled eggs.

"My day? It isn't _our_ day?" she asked.

"Well, part one is for you. Part two is for us," he started to explain.

"Our day has parts to it? You haven't cast us in some play have you?" she laughed.

"No plays, I promise. But while this trip is certainly about us, I also wanted it a nice getaway for you. The amount of stress you have been under …"

"There are lots of ways to deal with stress …" she interrupted, suggestively.

"And I am sure we will explore them all, but for the next few hours, you will be on your own," he told her.

"Okay. What am I going to be doing?" she asked, trying not to be nervous. What was it about the unknown and surprises that got her so riled up? She needed to work on that.

"Let's see. I am not sure what the order is, but Detective Beckett, you will be treated to signature spa treatments and tailored experiences, where your worldly cares will be replaced by a world of comfort," he said with a dramatic flair.

"Tell me you memorized that from the brochure …"

"Maybe part of it, but do you want to know what you will be doing?" he asked, getting excited again.

"I can't wait, Castle," she smiled genuinely.

"I signed you up for a massage, acupuncture, to balance your chi—"

"Wouldn't want any unbalanced chi," she interrupted, grinning.

"Exactly. So, I got you the facial, a mani-pedi, a body wrap in seaweed or something, to be topped off by an aromatic milk bath. I think after that you get to take a power nap on some sort of heated bed, too."

"Wow," she said, truly shocked and speechless.

"Impressed?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"I haven't done most of those things at any point in my life, much less on the same day," she admitted.

"I want you to have some time to yourself, to reflect, to relax," he explained. "We'll meet up later this afternoon and have the rest of the evening to do whatever we want with …"

"I've got some ideas for later," she told him, making her way across the bed to him. She started to kiss him when they heard a knock at the door.

"Go away," she muttered, sliding a hand under his robe and running it across his chest.

"That's your Spa Services Attaché," he said, quickly, stopping her hand before it traveled any further. He jumped out of bed and went to open the door.

"Castle, you can't be serious."

"Yes, I can," he called to her.

She sighed theatrically and got out of bed. "If I must. By all means, let my attaché in …"

An impeccably dressed young woman appeared when Castle opened the door. She introduced herself as Lila and said she would wait outside until Ms. Beckett was ready and to take her time. Castle thanked her and then shut the door again.

Beckett was starting to get dressed when he got back to the bedroom.

"What are you going to do all day?" she asked, pulling her shirt on.

"I've got some emails to catch up on and a friend's book review to do," he answered, pulling on some jeans.

"That's it?" she said, raising her brow at him.

"Well, I might be partaking in the four-handed massage at some point," he replied.

"Four-handed?" she said in disbelief.

"Don't worry, I signed you up for one as well. And if there's anything else you want during your day, don't hesitate, okay?" he said, walking up to her and pulling her into his arms.

"Oooo Daddy's credit card?" she teased.

"Anything you want. I mean it," he told her, kissing her cheek. "Now go. Your attaché is waiting."

* * *

When Beckett met up with Castle in the courtyard bar later in the afternoon, she was so relaxed, happy, and thankful, she nearly knocked him off his bar stool with her enthusiastic hug.

"I assume that means you had a good day?" he laughed, catching his balance.

"No words, Castle. It was … incredible. Thank you so much!" she gushed.

He smiled at her, thinking he had never seen her look so radiant before.

"You look beautiful," he told her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face with his hand.

"Thanks," she blushed, taking a seat. "I feel wonderful."

"It shows. A drink?" he asked.

"Maybe just a glass of white wine. Don't want a repeat of last night …" she said, running her hand down his thigh.

He took her touch in stride, told the bartender the order, and then turned back to her.

"Are you up for some dinner?"

"Yes, I'm starving," she declared. "What are you thinking?"

"There's a Spanish restaurant in town that has rave reviews. It's tapas style. Does that sound good?"

"Heavenly," she replied, accepting the glass of wine from the bartender.

"We can dress up a little if you want, but we better hurry. The limo will be here in an hour," he explained, taking a sip of his beer.

"The limo? Really, Castle?"

"What?" he asked, innocently.

She grinned at him, reminding herself just to accept it and enjoy it. This was his thing and she needed to let him do it.

* * *

After dinner, they walked around the quaint surrounding neighborhood, holding hands, both satisfied and full. They were quiet now, both knowing what was next on the menu for tonight.

"Thanks for dinner," she told him, nervous and not sure what to talk about, but thinking they should talk about something.

"You already said that three times," he replied, also nervous. Oddly, he found himself at a loss for words, too.

They walked a few more minutes before coming upon a two-story, used bookstore. Castle checked the time really quick. It was open for another thirty minutes.

"Want to check this out?" he asked.

"Sure, there's a novel I've been meaning to pick up," she told him, grateful for the distraction.

A little bell above the door jingled when they walked in. The shop was empty, save for an ancient man sitting behind the counter, reading the paper.

"Welcome!" he exclaimed as they walked further into the store.

"Hello," Beckett replied.

"Can I help you with something?" he said, again, very loudly.

"The fiction section?" Castle requested.

"Finnish succession?" he asked, puzzled.

The two of them looked at each other, trying not to laugh. They walked closer to the old man and then noticed his two hearing aides.

"Fiction," Castle repeated.

"Ah yes. Upstairs," he replied, pointing to the staircase.

"Do you have any Richard Castle books?" he asked the man before they walked away.

"Really, Castle?" she said, trying not to laugh out loud.

"Who?" the man asked.

"Richard Castle, the _New York Times_ bestselling mystery writer," Castle told him in a very clear and insistent voice.

"Never heard of him," the man answered, looking back to his paper.

Kate did laugh out loud then and headed toward the stairs.

"What?" he asked, sounding wounded.

"What exactly were you hoping for there? That your books would have their own special section? That he was a fan? That he'd want an autograph? Ooo … I know. Maybe you wanted to sign his chest!" she giggled.

"Just forget it," he sighed, swatting at her behind to move her up the stairs.

Upstairs was just as charming and piled high with books as the downstairs was. Kate didn't find the novel she was looking for, so she headed over to the Cs and sure enough, found him there.

"There's only one used copy of _Heat Wave_. That's it," he said, sadly.

"Take it as a good sign. This is a used bookstore, after all. Maybe people love your books so much, they don't sell them," she pointed out.

"I like Borders better," he complained. "They have multiple copies of all of my books and usually a cardboard cutout nearby."

"Yeah, it's a real shame," she said, trying to sympathize with him.

"Don't laugh at me," he warned her, failing to suppress a smile.

"I'm not," she insisted. "Look, if it will make you feel better, we can move the copy to one of those wire stands on the table in the middle, make it more prominent."

He looked at her closely, trying to tell if she was messing with him or being serious.

"Or," she said, changing her tone completely. "We could open up _Heat Wave_ and skip to the good part."

"What do you mean? Oh—"

She cut him off by kissing him softly on the mouth. She put her arms around him and pulled him flush with her body.

"Beckett, I don't think—"

"Shhhh …" she replied. "Don't talk."

"But people! Somebody could walk in here—"

"We'd hear the bell," she answered, tugging on his earlobe with her teeth.

"Um … apples?" he attempted, trying not to be seduced by her charms, which was pretty hard considering this was all he had wanted for about four years now.

She didn't reply, only kissed him harder, until he was so distracted by what her tongue was doing, he could barely remember his own name, much less mount an objection to the current situation.

"The old man?" he tried one last time.

"He won't hear us," she replied, running her hands up and down his back.

"Beckett … I just …" he started, not knowing exactly what he was going to say.

"Relax," she told him, smiling and backing away from him, leaving him breathless and a little cold. "I was just teasing you."

But when she looked at him, the smile left her face when she saw the expression on his. The way he was looking at her—his flushed face, his darkened eyes running up and down her body, his breath rushed and heavy. It was a look of pure desire and it shot through her body like a bolt of electricity.

Still looking at her, still silent, he gently pushed her back against the Ds and stepped into her, deliberately trapping her between his body and the bookshelf. She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry.

And then, without preamble, he put his hands under her dress and slid them up her naked thighs, making her whimper softly. She brought her fingers to the buttons on his shirt and undid the first few, until her hands could explore his bare collarbone unobstructed.

They were kissing again, more passionately than they ever had before. Her hands were all over him then, darting from place to place, her touches soft and light, so unexpected and wonderful, his mind pretty much shut off then.

"We can't do this," she told him, unbuttoning more of his buttons, until they were all unbuttoned and she was pulling his shirt from his waistband.

"I know," he replied, kissing a spot on her neck, where her jaw met her neckline, a spot he had been eyeing for years.

"I mean it, Castle. We have to stop."

"I know," he said, pushing her dress up higher. His hands on her stomach caused her to shudder in pleasure.

"Right now," she whispered.

"I know, Kate. Right now."

They didn't say anything else for a while, not until he felt her hands go to his belt buckle.

"We have to stop now," he insisted, finally forcing the dress over her head and dropping it to the floor.

"I know, I know," she pushed the words into his mouth.

He had her bra undone and his hands on her bare breasts so quickly, she had to literally gasp for air. Just as quickly, she was able to get him out of his slacks and boxers, which also fell to the floor, abandoned. He stepped outside of them immediately, never losing contact with her.

Within seconds, he had her raised up against the bookshelf. She grinned to herself, feeling pretty dirty for liking this. In an instant, one arm locked behind his head and the other shot out to grab onto a shelf.

"Seriously, Kate, we can't do this. We can't," he said as he struggled into position.

She didn't answer, just moved a little until they found the right angle and—

_Fuck_, he whispered into her neck, pinching a bit of her skin between his teeth. It felt so damn good. Finally. _Finally._

Beckett must have trusted his strength because her hand dropped from the shelf and came around his back, until both of her arms were wrapped around his neck and her face was beside his. She was breathing like he was, feeling everything he was, the natural rhythm between them in action. It was the hottest thing he had ever experienced. His enthusiasm kicked through the roof.

"This isn't stopping," he reminded her.

"Please don't stop, Rick," she whispered, curling into his body, encouraging him, taking him on. He had never heard her voice sound like that before—it almost hurt him to hear it. He could have never imagined what her voice would sound like now, when they were together in this way.

"This is insane," he whispered into her ear, the coolness of his breath giving her the shivers as it traveled across her neck.

"If you stop, I'll kill you," was her reply.

So he didn't.

* * *

When it was over, they both slid to the floor, a jangled mess of limbs, clothes, and some books that had taken a dive off the shelves.

"When did you take my bra off?" she panted.

"I have no idea," he told her.

They both looked around them, dazed, and then started laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. The bookstore. The old man downstairs. The miraculous fact that no one had discovered them. Their first time, which was so beyond amazing, so incredibly better than either of them had imagined in their wildest dreams.

"We should put our clothes on," she said.

"Agreed."

They reached around each other, rustling through clothes and books.

"I think I'm sitting on a book," Castle said, prying the thing out from under him.

"Can you hand me my underwear?" Kate asked him, still on the hunt for her shoes.

He took them in his hand and dangled them out in front of her.

"Can I take these back to the frat house and show them off?" he said, wickedly.

"Just give them to me," she laughed, sticking her hand out for them.

Within a minute, they were upright and fully clothed, though some straightening out, patting down, buttoning, and zipping was still going on.

"Let's get out of here so we can go back to the hotel and do it again," she whispered, leaning in for a kiss, her hands not far behind.

"Do not lay a hand on me, Detective Kate Beckett. We cannot have sex here again. They only had one copy of my book. They do not deserve me," he stated, steadfast to his plan.

"Come on, Castle. I think the store is still open for ten more minutes," she said in a lowered voice, sliding a finger through one of the belt loops on his slacks.

"If that is a veiled comment about certain timed events, I can assure you, this is but the start of a long and incredible journey. Consider this a prelude to—"

"Long and incredible?" she said, raising her brow.

"I am thinking this is a good time to call the driver," he announced, stepping back from her. He took out his phone and did just that.

She took a step toward him, leaned in until her lips were by his ear, and whispered everything she was going to do to him when they got back to the hotel. By the time the driver honked outside, he was nearly a pile of goo, still wrapped up in her arms, listening to her say things he never, _never_, thought she would say to him.

"Let's go," he managed, forcing himself to stand up straight.

She grabbed his hand and they quickly walked down the stairs, waved goodbye to the old man, and had the driver take them as fast as he could back to the hotel.

* * *

Hours later, they lay tangled in the sheets, sweaty and exhausted, but calm. He lay flat on his back and her head rested on his chest as she lay beside him. He absentmindedly played with her hair while she stared at the ceiling in utter disbelief at how happy she felt right now.

Sometimes, over the years, she had wondered if she would ever feel happiness like this again—true happiness. Her mother's death had affected her in that way. It had made her too cautious, too scared to get close enough to anyone.

And Castle had been the scariest. The way her heart fluttered under his gaze the very day they had met—it had scared her, almost entirely repelled her away from him. But now she was seeing that letting him in could help heal her, probably in ways that she couldn't do by herself.

Besides, there was no point. She was forever changed by what had happened tonight. The way it felt to be with him, sexually, yes, but more importantly—intimately … they had shared things they had never shared with anyone before.

They were in awe of it, silenced by it. The only reason they weren't completely freaking out is because they knew there was no going back from this. The things they had said to each other, asked for from each other, the way their bodies had responded to each other. No going back. No way.

"Thanks for bringing me out here, Rick," she told him, really meaning it.

"I'm so glad you came. Why did you come?" he asked, changing his tone to puzzled.

"I wanted to the walls to come down. I figured I had to do something, to trust you for once.

"You can always trust me, Kate."

"I know. I know now," she sighed.

"We're moving forward—on everything. On the case, on us, on life. Please tell me you're with me on this," his voice held a deeper gravity than before.

"I'm with you," she promised, rolling over and laying against his side, in the crook of his arm.

"Good," he said, suppressing a yawn, and pulling up the covers around them.

"Castle?" she whispered when they were still again.

"Hmm?" he managed, already half asleep.

"I love you," she told him, her voice choking on the words.

He didn't reply, leaving her confused. Had he heard her and chosen not to respond or had he not heard her at all? He couldn't have fallen asleep that fast, could he?

Tears appeared at her eyes, remembering the secret between them, the secret she was keeping from him, that she had remembered what he had said to her that day. For a moment, her heart seized.

But fatigue wasn't letting her dwell on it and though she tried to fight it, she just let go and let herself sink back into the bliss it was to be with him. Like he had said, they were moving forward.

She would tell him. He would understand. For now, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him against her as tightly as she could. She couldn't imagine what her life was going to be like now, but if these two days had been any indication, she was in for some fun.

The walls had come down and now there was light—and her future had never looked brighter.

* * *

_The End._


End file.
